


miracles happen, once in a while

by orphan_account



Series: run away with me! [1]
Category: The Princess Diaries - All Media Types, X-Men (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-02-15 12:36:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2229246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles Xavier's life has changed when he learns he's a prince of Genovia, a principality in Southern Europe. With high school, love, and royalty, he is torn on what to prioritize first.</p><p>AU fic based on characters from the X-Men film series, set in the Princess Diaries series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WORK IN PROGRESS
> 
> I don't own any of the characters here, I'm just being a novice fic writer. I have no intention to use them commercially and infringe on copyright.
> 
> If you have any questions, comments or some suggestions, ask me on my [tumblr](http://maximoff.gq).  
> Enjoy! I'm just new and trying this thing out, so I'm really open to criticism.
> 
> This will only be updated during the weekends, or if I have some free time from my college work this semester. Anyway, just leave messages on my accounts given above for questions/messages. Thanks :)

**Monday, September 15**

Maybe people are wondering why a guy like me likes to write a journal. I feel like, someday, someone from school or outside will read this and think that I’m a freak. Not in the way Emma Frost likes to say it to me every time she encounters us in the hallways.

Anyway, my mom gave it to me since she feels like I’m not used to opening up with people, and she feels like her “little Charlie boy” needs to express his feelings. SHE WANTS ME TO WRITE ABOUT MY FEELINGS!

You know what I really do feel, mom?

I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU’RE DOING THIS TO ME! WHY ARE YOU DATING MY GYM TEACHER? WHY?

Everybody at my high school probably thinks I’m the weirdest and shyest freak there. Hello, 5-foot 5, wears glasses, and kind of skinny. Who would think I’m cool? Nobody.

There are like, thousands of guys in this city and you choose to go out with my gym teacher? I thought you hate sports, mom.

**Tuesday, September 16 – Study Hall**

On the subway, Jean’s like, “Coach G is cool. He’s not like those gym teachers in high school movies.”

As if I’m doing well in gym class, Jean. It’s the only class I hate, since being skinny and running laps around the gym doesn’t go well with each other.

He’s not cool if he makes you run extra laps because you were behind, and when you can imagine him kissing your mom. They haven’t been on a date yet. But if my mom lets him kiss her on the first date, I don’t know. I’d find it gross.

I saw Logan Howlett frenched Emma Frost last week. I have this weird and gross view near it because Logan’s locker was unfortunately besides mine, and they were basically leaning to it. It’s gross.

I can’t say the same if Logan kissed me like that. Last Saturday, I saw him buy a cologne at this men’s shop at the mall. He saw me and basically said hi in that deep, lovely voice of his. Jean says that Logan was just distracted at the mall. Why would the most popular guy in school would say hi to Charles Lane, a lowly, and uncool freshman?

I can’t help but disagree with her, though. I know it deep in my heart that Logan’s just waiting for the right person to fall for. He fits the type of guy who would see beyond the societal perceptions of me. He’s a hopeless romantic, I guess.

And then Jean said that I imagine too much for a guy, and that I always create stories in my head to fill the void that is my life. She says that me being upset over Mom and Coach G dating is a classic example.  

“If you’re that upset about it, just tell your mom,” Jean says. “ _Tell_ her you don’t want her going out with him. I don’t understand you, Charles. You’re always going around, lying about how you feel. Why don’t you just assert yourself for a change? Your feelings have worth, you know.”

Oh yeah, as if I’d spoil my mom’s love life. She’s so happy and cheeky about it. I’d feel bad if I want her to break it off. No one wants their feelings broken, okay?

**Wednesday, September 17**

In gym class today, Coach G talks about physical fitness again. He’s asking me an easy question about running, and I was like, “What??” As if I care about running. Even if I run, and I tried to, I’d still be the same skinny and kind of tall that I am today. And a freak, as Emma Frost pointed it out again when she whispered to me that in the hallway. How come she likes to taunt me? I stay in my own lane, thank you very much.

You know, for a gym teacher, Coach G is damn fine. He’s unlike the gym teachers in those high school movies. He’s more fit in the way those guys wearing short shorts in Sleepaway Camp are fit. I can see why Mom would like him. She likes those horror movies, and those type of guys.

I was talking to Jean about this dating thing on the stairway to the closed rooftop, when we heard a guy laugh near us. He went, “Your mom’s dating the gym teacher? Haha, is it serious?”

“What? Who are you?”

We turned to see that he’s the exchange student guy from our year. He’s kind of new, since he’s the one that just moved here from Germany. Oh, and he’s totally hot. He’s kind of tall, taller than me, maybe 6 ft. or taller.

“I’m Erik Lehnsherr. Are you two really gossiping here at the stairs?”

Jean replied, “Uhm, yes. Can’t you see we’re busy? Anyway, I’m Jean Grey, and this is my best friend, Charles Lane. He’s totally shy, and kind of reserved to strangers.”

Erik just laughed, turned to me and said, “Oh, they say you’re the smartest of our year. How can you be totally shy, kid? You’re just eager to tell your friend that story.” Then, he turned to Jean and said, “And you’re actually his best friend? Ha-ha. Of course, both of you are on the top of our year. I’d be surprised if you aren’t friends.”

Jean was actually cool about it, even though the guy was kind of rude and smug. We just continued talking while we ignore the guy as he just sits there on the top of the stairs.

As the lunch time nears its end, we silently left and went to our next class. I remembered the guy still sitting there, so I dragged Jean and went back. He haven’t left yet, so I kind of asked him, “Do you have any friends?” He just mumbled what I hear as a no, so I asked, “Do you want to be friends with us? With me and Jean, I mean. I thought you’re kind of lonely and all, so really, do you want to?”

Jean said, “Come on, we’ll take you from here. We don’t bite, okay.”

He silently stood up and we gladly took him by hand and walked out of that stairs. I noticed he's kind of smiling and grinning to me. I also found out he’s in most classes like me, except gym class. He’s still kind of new, and I never really noticed him in my classes. At least, I’d got someone to talk and hang out with, besides Jean. It kinda tires me to be with Jean always. 

**Thursday, September 18**

  **JEAN GREY’S LIST OF HOTTEST GUYS***

 

  * **Logan Howlett** (Uhm, of course. Six feet tall of lean, musky hotness. That familiar scent of him whenever he’s beside me at the lockers says so. Only flaw: dating Emma Frost. He’s the most popular guy in school, yet he chose to date a freshman? Emma Frost, even. What does he sees in her?)
  *         **Robert Drake** (Strongly disagree. Just because he can be cool as ice sometimes, he’s still from New England. From Boston! Guys there are so weird, and their accents are bad. He looks good in our uniform, though.)
  *         **George Clooney** (George Clooney from _E.R._ could get it, he could get it really, but I don’t think the world forgot about his Batman stint.)
  *         **Patrick Swayze** (Totally agree. He made _Dirty Dancing_ bearable, and it’s sad that he died in _Ghost_ , either.)
  *         **Prince William of England** (He’s not. Prince Harry is better, because his hairline isn’t receding yet.)
  * **Leonardo DiCaprio** ( _Romeo + Juliet_ is his peak, although he still looks good at _Titanic._ )
  *         **Justin Graham** (Agree. He’s the second hottest guy in school, and he’s not dating an Emma Frost type of girl, either.)
  *         **Brad Pitt** ( _Se7en_ \- Brad, _Thelma and Louise_ – Brad, or _Fight Club_ – Brad? I’d take all.)
  *         **Justin Timberlake** (HE DUMPED BRITNEY. NO.)
  *         **Brendan Frasier** ( _George of the Jungle_ was hilarious, and he’s shirtless most of the time. I agree.) 



  
        ***** with commentary by Charles Xavier, compiled during Study Hall.

**Later on Thursday**

Erik sat with us during lunch. I did get to know him more as I question him about his life. They moved from Germany to here since his parents got a great job in the huge city, and now he's just adjusting to the culture here.  He’s kind of smiling more now since he had actual friends to talk to during this unbearable break time. I was wondering on how I did ended up with these people sitting with me in the caf, since both of them could be pretty popular. Jean’s very pretty, with her red locks and great figure. She’s also really smart. Erik also looks good. He’s tall, lean in built, and the girls here would fall over him because they like foreign guys more. I asked them this and they just laughed at me. Jean just straightened up at her seat and said, “Charles, we’ve been friends since 2nd grade. You’re cool despite the nerdiness, and your love for old flannels, plaid, and cardigans.” I laughed at that, since I really do like flannels. Erik answered, “No one came up to me like that and asked me to be friends, Charles. I do find you interesting. We’re in the same classes, after all.”

Jean went up to get cheese fries, and left us two on the table. As I silently finish my clubhouse sandwich, he said to me while we’re alone, “I hope you also know that you’re pretty, Charlie boy.” He grinned at me and then silently finished his food.

I almost choked at the end of that line, as I can’t believe someone called me pretty. Me, a freak by Emma Frost standards, is pretty for Erik? Good thing that Jean went right back to finish her food and fries, and she saw that I’m actually blushing. “You look pretty when you’re blushing, Charles,” she said.

Yesterday, Erik was this random new freshman we met, and then today, he told me I’m pretty. What the hell is happening?

**Later that night**

I’m online researching stuff about what happens at first dates, since my mom and Coach G’s date happens tonight. Better be prepared to quiz her, I guess. Suddenly, Jean IMed me.

 

> PHOENIXGRL: I haven’t seen you blush for a long time, Charlie boy. What happened earlier?  
>  CHARLESX: It’s nothing really. It’s just that someone called me pretty. It’s the first time someone called me that, and he’s Erik. I don’t know what to do!  
>  PHOENIXGRL: Wow, he really did?  
>  CHARLESX: He did, when you were getting cheese fries. I think he timed it.  
>  PHOENIXGRL: Maybe he meant to compliment you, Charles. Actually, your kind of pale face and red lips make you look pretty. It’s not like it’s a bad thing.  
>  PHOENIXGRL: And don’t act like you didn’t like it, Charlie boy. You blushed when Logan just said excuse when you were getting things in your locker and his is just beside you.  
>  CHARLESX: I don’t know, but I really loved the sound of it.  
>  CHARLESX: Oh, and mom’s date is here. I think I need some guts to talk to Coach G. TTYL.
> 
>       -  Terminated  –

At that moment, Coach G. knocked in the main door of the loft. It’s their first date tonight, and he actually looked in his polo shirt and jeans. Mom’s doing a last check of her look, so I actually got to talk to him.

He asked, “Charles, I hope you don’t feel uncomfortable about my dating your mom, socially.”

Of course, in typical Charles fashion, I lied. I said, “Oh no, Coach G. It doesn’t bother me. Never.” And he’s like, “If it bothers you, we can talk about it.”

All I could say was, “Uhm, it really doesn’t. It does a little, I guess, but you’re all adults now. It’s just a date. There’s nothing wrong ‘bout that.”

That’s when he loosened up and said, “I really like your mother, Charles. Maybe it’s not the last time we’re going outside.”

It all came out so fast, but all I could say was, “Well, you better take care of her. You know I’m weak, Coach G., but if you hurt her, I’ll kick the hell out of you.”

He just coolly replied, “I won’t hurt her, but if I did, you have permission to kick the hell out of me.” He laughed after that as my mom gets out of her room. They said goodbye, and Mom told me not to wait.

For a gym teacher, a teacher even, he’s really cool.

Anyway, Dad just called the moment they left the loft. He wanted to talk to Mom about some important matter. What the heck is happening with you there, Dad?

*****

**Friday, September 19**

When I woke up at 5, I was shocked to see Mom’s already up. She’s no morning person, but how???? And she’s making breakfast! She’s making a full breakfast! Looks like someone’s date ended up with high hopes. Oh well, I’d asked her later or tomorrow.

**Saturday, September 20**

Dad called again this morning. He’s really eager to talk to Mom. I just said that he could tell it to me and I’d relay it to her. He sounds weird, in the way transatlantic calls sound weird. Maybe it’s the noise from the ocean or some feedback. I asked him, “Dad, is Grandmere dead?” He replied in this sudden weird tone, “What? … No, Charles. It’s nothing. Just tell your mom to call back, okay.” He then hung up the call.

What is it that Dad wanted to really tell Mom? What is happening? EXPLAIN IT TO ME.

**Monday, September 22**

Today, I clearly monitored Coach G for signs that he didn’t enjoy his date with Mom. Mom’s being cheeky and happy about it all weekend and she was at her studio for a long time. He didn’t give me extra laps to run today, so I guess he may have had a hangover from that date. I thought I was having a great day, but then Emma Frost sure knows how to ruin them. When Jean and I went by my locker during lunch, Emma was on her way to Logan’s locker, which is besides mine. She saw me wearing my glasses, and then I realized she took it from me. She wore it in a mocking way, posed with it, and then said to me in her most annoying voice, “Still can’t see clearly, Charlie boy? Maybe if you’d stop being a freak, you could.”

Emma wouldn’t stop wearing my glasses, and every time I try to get it, she’s always dodging me.

Jean couldn’t let her continue taunting me, so she grabbed Emma by the hand, and spoke loudly to her face, “Can you go fuck yourself, Frost?” Emma was already trying to hit Jean, but Jean clearly held her up and pushed her. No one ever stood up to Emma like that before, but then again, Jean was strong-willed and wouldn’t let anyone come near her.

 Jean Grey could really be popular since she’s pretty, and really friendly, yet she chose to be my friend and defend me. I do admire her for that. As she’s tidying up and fixing her uniform, Jean just turned to me and said, “You don’t always have to be passive, Charles. Why don’t you try to assert yourself, sometime?”

 We saw Erik coming and she called him towards us. He just helped me bring my things and clean up. Just as we were going back to class, Emma Frost saw Erik being close to me. She loudly said in her faux cute voice, “Ooh, Charlie boy got a boyfriend.”

It made me blush, and Erik just looked at me and grinned. Jean kind of shot me a *uh huh, Charles* look and just said, “Could you both walk faster? We’re getting late.”

**Tuesday, September 23**

As I entered the loft after coming home from school, Mom just went, “We need to talk.” I knew she was serious when I never saw her change her seat in the sofa after I changed to my sweatpants and old white shirt.

I thought it was about the date, and I just assured her it’s totally okay. It turned out it was about Dad. The reason he kept calling us frequently last week was to tell us that he had cancer, and he will never be able to have kids again.

Cancer is a scary thing, and I would really like to research on it when I’m in grad school or something. Fortunately, his cancer is curable. He underwent through chemotherapy last year. However, they have to cut off… his balls. His testicles, really! How gross! So that’s why he’s sterile, he only does have one testicle.

Mom says he’s really bummed out. She says we have to be very understanding of him right now, because men – including me - have needs, and one of them is the need to feel progenitively omnipotent.

He already had me! I mean, are you not satisfied of having a son? Why want kids when this world is overpopulated? We already know our impact on the earth and stuff.

Mom had also said that Dad and I needs to talk. He’s flying tomorrow here because of it. I really don’t get it. Aside from bad jokes about his balls, what there is left to talk about?

*****


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles discovers the truth about his identity. Also, bonus friendship scenes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed Charles's initial surname from Xavier to Lane because his mom gave her own surname for her as being illegitimate. Kind of late since I felt lazy and my college work is demanding of my time. This chapter's not yet finished but I'll post the first parts. Thanks! :D
> 
> Sorry if this is late to finish since I have been busy with exams. Chapter 3 will be posted by Saturday, so keep reading <3

**Wednesday, September 24**

 

My dad’s here. I mean, he’s staying at the Ritz downtown, thank god. And he’s with Grandmere. Mom said that he’s going to meet me tomorrow, since jet lag took its toll on him, and wants some rest.

I told Jean and Erik during study hall about this. I didn’t mention the “testicles” part, since it would be gross and no laughing matter. Jean had said that men feel weak without their ability to be sexually active. She said that it may be naturally existing in the male ego, perhaps. I’m not good at psychology, and I’m gonna trust Jean since she have psychoanalysts as parents. Erik just laughed at this and found the “sterile” part most funny. I asked him why, and he said that it must be bad not to be able to have sex again. He can’t imagine being sterile.

I don’t know. Maybe it does weird being sterile.

**Thursday, September 25**

Now I know why Dad is so concerned about not being able to have kids.

BECAUSE HE’S A PRINCE! A PRINCE!

They’ve managed to hide this from me? How did they get away with this? How could they?

Although when Dad brings me to Genovia every summer, we don’t really stay in the country that much. We always stay at Grandmere’s mansion in France. I didn’t really know Genovia is ruled by my father. All I know is that it was ruled by the Xaviers, a royal family with lineage from the Spanish Bourbons and the English monarchs.

Genovia is situated between France, Italy, and Monaco. It’s pretty much small, since it was a stable territory that was ruled since the 7th century. I made a fact sheet about it in 6th grade geography class. I never knew my dad was the prince of Genovia since the picture they used in the almanac was an old one, with some sideburns and trimmed facial hair. He looked like Michael Douglas from Fatal Attraction. Maybe that’s why Mom got attracted to her during college. She probably felt that she’s Glenn Close and went to have some sex with him.

 I always thought he was old money, like the Rockefellers or the Vanderbilts.

As usual, the hotel staff thought I was crazy when I asked at the concierge for my dad. Maybe they got the impression from my appearance. I’m too skinny and pale for a 14 year-old, but I was wearing my high school uniform. They wouldn’t even let me stay in the lobby.

As soon as my dad called me up, they apologized and gladly helped me through his suite.

While we’re having tea at his suite, he started talking about being a prince. He started, “Charles, I think you need to know the truth. You know that I will never have children anymore, and this made me decide that somehow, this will be a huge change in your life. I am the Prince of Genovia, Charles.”

 

And I was all, “what???”

           

“Your mother and I agreed that you never really have to know. I agreed with her that a palace is no great place to raise a child. Of course, I haven’t thought that she will raise you in an artist’s loft in America. I do admit that it doesn’t seem to have done you any harm. I think living in America instilled in you a heavy sense of skepticism about people, since this country is a melting pot of cultures. A skill I haven’t gained until college, and I believe it is responsible for the fact that I have trouble establishing close, interpersonal relationships with women.”

 

“What I really wanted so say, Charles, is that your mother and I thought that this would end up in good faith. We never envisioned you to be in this situation. I was just 25 when you were born, and still being plain stupid about it. I felt certain that I would meet another woman, settle down and marry her, and have children and a great family. Unfortunately, that will never come true. Charles, it is you who will succeed the throne. You are the next prince of Genovia.”

I pretended to make a vomiting sound so I haven’t really digested what he had just said. I asked, “Dad, can you excuse me for a minute?”

He looked worried, and defeated but he just said, “Go ahead,” and gave me $20 for the washroom attendant. I pocketed it of course. My own allowance is $10 a week! I need this for my savings.

I did feel really vomiting, so I went to the nearest private stall in the men’s washroom. The men’s washroom at the Ritz is decorated in all-white colors. The private stalls have their own sinks, and those dressing room-type of mirrors. I did vomit on the sink, cleaned it up and just stood there as I catch my breath. I concentrated on what my dad had said:

 

He’s the prince of Genovia.

 

Things are making sense to me now. Whenever I fly to France, I would just walk onto the plane from the terminal, but when I get there I’m escorted first off the plane and directly into a limo to meet Dad and Grandmere in Nice.I always believed it was due to frequent flyer privileges. Now, I guess it’s because he’s a prince. Whenever Grandmere takes me shopping in Milan, we would shop before stores have begun operation or after they are done for the day. She always hated how I always wear tweed, flannels and typical English fashion. She thinks it makes me look old. Whenever we’re at Nice, we would eat a multi-course meal at Grandmere’s mansion.

I always believed it was due to frequent flyer privileges. Now, I guess it’s because he’s a prince. Whenever Grandmere takes me shopping in Milan, we would shop before stores have begun operation or after they are done for the day. She always hated how I always wear tweed, flannels and typical English fashion. She thinks it makes me look old. Whenever we’re at Nice, we would eat a multi-course meal at Grandmere’s mansion.

 

Most people will never know Genovia. My classmates never did. My mom didn’t even know it exists until she met Dad. Nobody famous came from there.

Still, people who Genovia likes it because it’s very sunny all-year round, with the Alps in the background and the Mediterranean is facing on front. The country is very hilly, much like San Francisco, and with different trees lining up the sidewalk. Olive trees are the most prominent, since Genovia produces a very expensive variant of olive oil. We’re also the cleanest and most beautiful place in the Riviera.

The palace, right in the center of the capital, is magnificent. It was slightly bigger than Versailles, and it got a lot more beautiful garden than Paris. Funny how Grandmere never mentions that we live there when we pass by it.

Oh, I guess it’s time to go back to my dad’s suite now.

 

**Later on Thursday, City Park**

I’m so freaking out, so I need to write this before I forget about this and record this as some nightmare.

IT’S NOT A NIGHTMARE. IT’S ALL REAL.

I will never tell anyone, not even Jean. She - and might as well everybody I know – will never experience this. Nobody I know went to bed one night as one person and woke up and feel they’re completely different.

I got back to the common room of the suite. I saw Dad on the phone talking to Mom, and sat down. He was saying, “Yes, I already said the truth to him. No, he doesn’t look upset.” He looked at me, “Are you upset, Charles?”

I said no, since I’m not really upset – NOT THEN. He said to Mom, “He’s really not upset, Helen.” He looked at me for a bit then said, “Do you want your Mom to come here and explain?’

I shook my head, then said no. “She has to finish a collage and a mixed media piece for the City Museum. They want it by Wednesday.

He repeated this to Mom. I heard her grumble, like every time I remind her of her deadlines, she’s always like that. My mom said she’s only inspired if the muses moved her. Since Dad pays all of our bills, it’s no problem. I just don’t like how irresponsible she could be.

He put down the phone and looked at me. “Better?” he asked.

He noticed my panic earlier, after all. I nodded.

 

“Do you really understand all of this, Charles?”

I nodded. “You are the Prince of Genovia.”

“Yes…” as he sounds like he waits for more.

 

Being slow this time, I said, “Grandpere was your predecessor?”

“So Grandmere is…what?”

“The dowager princess.”

I sulked. That explains Grandmere. She acts the way Dowager Empress Cixi acted during the last years of the Manchu rule in China. Dad was looking annoyed, so I slumped and said, “Now what?”

He was looking smug. “Charles, are you really that slow right now? Don’t you get it?”

 

I sat straight and said, “Uhm, really. What is it?”

“You’re not Charles Lane, anymore dear.” My mom gave me her last name since I’m born outside of marriage, and she doesn’t believe in the cult of the patriarchy.

I was shocked. “I’m not? Then who am I?”

           

“You’re now Charles Francis Lane Xavier, Prince of Genovia.”

 

OKAY. Me, a prince? Like British prince _prince_? Wow.

 AS IF!

 

This is how NOT a prince I am. I mean, as my dad dropped those words, I sulked and suddenly felt sick. A five-foot five, skinny and pale nerd from America is a prince? Yeah, right.

I mean, I have few friends, and a “freak” by Emma Frost standards. I’m the most unlikely royal out there. Both Jean and Erik have said that I look pretty. A pale face, red lips, and blue eyes are not for royalty. Is pretty a word to describe a prince?

Then my dad held my hand, and just tried to comfort me. He was repeatedly saying how sorry he is. He said that it isn’t that bad, that I’d like it living in Genovia, and I could visit America as often to see my friends.

That’s when I lost my cool. First, I am a prince, and now I HAVE TO MIGRATE?

 I got really, really mad. I’m typically silent and passive, but if all hells broke loose, you need to get out of my way and don’t ever touch me.

 

“I WILL NOT MOVE TO GENOVIA, DAD!” I shouted. It may have been heard through the hallways, but I don’t care. I have never shouted this way before. This anger in me is just begging to be released.

“Charles, I thought you understand ---,” my dad reasoned.

“All I understood,” I shouted, “is that you lied to me this whole time. And now, you ask me to live with you in Genovia like it’s no big deal? Like you think it’s that easy?”

 

That was very Tyra Banks circa ANTM Cycle 4 of me. I walked out, and left that suite. They tried to chase me down the hallways and into the elevators, but I think they just let me run.

I am weak at running, but when shit like this happens, I can run super fast and go all the way. Coach G always makes me run extra laps, and now I think it paid off. I ran fast downtown, and went into the city park. It was sundown, but who cares. No one’s gonna attack me at the park, I guess.

I settled down for a while, trying to figure out where to go, since I can never fathom what would happen at the loft. I couldn’t go to Jean’s, either. She’s really opposed to any form of government not run by the people, be it direct or representative. She always believed that when sovereignty is vested in a single person, and their right to rule is hereditary or divine, the principles of social equality and the respect for an individual’s rights is lost. That’s why most monarchs today remain as mere figureheads, symbols of unity and a regard for a nation’s history.

That’s what she reported in Social Studies, yesterday.

I do agree with her, especially after how Prince Charles (not me, the ugly, spoiled milk British one) treated Princess Diana. She was the sweetest princess ever, then Charles cheated on her and dumped her. I know my dad isn’t like that. He just stays in his own lane. He would also never subject anyone to taxation without representation.

The Genovian citizens never pay any tax, and I don’t think that would make a difference for Jean.

I’m pretty sure my dad had called Mom for like a hundred times now, and they’d be all worried. As much as how I feel angry to them for this, I hate making Mom worried. She’s irresponsible with things like laundry, her works, groceries and the bills, but she will never neglect me. She always makes it sure that she checks on me, even the smallest things and details.

It wasn’t fair to make her worried right now. I don’t care about my dad right now since I was very angry to him about this. I know I had to be alone and think about this. Most teens would probably like finding out they were a prince or princess, or the mere thought of being royal is fascinating. I don’t have that. I’m only good at academic stuff, I guess, but my social skills are not that good.

I guess I’ll just have to get used to this. I’m not Prince Charles Francis Xavier, but I guess I have to know him more. He sounds like a millionaire or prince of an obscure country that has their own reality show on Fox or MTV a la Joe Millionaire.

I just can’t move to Genovia. My home, my family, and my friends are all here. Who would look at my mom? What would she do if she’s left alone here??

I can’t do it.

I swear to god, if Emma Frost finds out about this, I can be found hiding under my bed.

 

*****

**Even later on Thursday**

Of course, I couldn't hide in the city park forever. The policemen patrolling went near all the people still there and asked us to go home. I packed my things, and got out of the park. I grabbed a bus and just slept on the way home. I know I would get it big time but I just want to get a nap. 

What I didn't know is that I would get it from BOTH parents at the same time. This was a first.  "Where have you been, Charlie boy?" my mom blurted out. She was sitting on the kitchen bar with Dad, and a newspaper and the phone between them.

My dad said, at the same time, “We were worried sick.”

I thought I would be grounded, but all they wanted to know was whether I am all right. I assured them that I’m fine, and I’m sorry for being gone for hours. I just needed to be alone, I said.

I thought this was the calm before the storm, but they haven’t been angry at me. My mom just made me sit down and eat some reheated wonton noodle soup, and I accepted.

I ate the noodles in like five minutes, since I was really hungry, and I got up. My mom wanted to protest but I was like, “I just want to get some rest, mom.” She checked me for signs for signs of sickness but I just shooed her away and went to my room.

I saw her catching up to me and I shut that door real quick. As I’m putting down my things, I heard small talk from the kitchen. I heard my dad sighed, and said, “Helen, let him be. He needs space.”

 

I got into the bathroom, and took a long time in the tub. I was being comfortable when I saw the time, and so I rinsed and got to change clothes, and pretty much went to bed.

**Friday, September 26**

Today, when I woke up, I really felt refreshed and calm. That was my best deep sleep in a long time. I got up before my alarm, which is really rare.

I took a great shower, and slipped into a neatly pressed uniform. This is Friday. A special day, since it means the weekend! Yes! When I got out of my room, mom’s wearing a dress, and making pancakes and tea. I smiled to her and was being cheeky when I heard a newspaper rustle.

My dad was reading the local daily, drinking coffee and wearing a suit. At six-thirty in the morning.

And then I remembered. I don’t know how it slipped out of me: I’m a prince of a small European country.

Oh, lord. I sulked. Every good thing this Friday was suddenly void. I was standing still, then he went, “Oh, Charles.”

Not this morning, Dad. He folded the paper neatly, and laid it down. My mom had set the table with our special porcelain plates, and tall glasses which she only uses for Long Island Iced Tea. She even set up a vase of fresh flowers in the middle of the table. I appreciated this gesture, and it slightly made me smile.

“We need to talk, Charles,” my dad said in his stern voice. I know he would go in. His lectures are always like this. “What’s wrong with your head, Charles?”

I ran my hand on my hair. “What?” I thought my head looks great, like Aaron Samuels in Mean Girls or like Chace Crawford in Gossip Girl season 2.

“Nothing’s wrong, Albert. Charles does look pretty today. Don’t you mind?” my mom retorted. She also hates Dad’s lectures. She hates to hear that tone. “Sit down, Charles. I even heated up the maple syrup for the pancakes.”

I sat down, gobbled up that steaming stack of pancakes in small but fast servings. The pancakes tasted good, the best my mom had made in a while. I ate as fast as I can since I don’t want to hear that lecture.

As I was finished eating and now downing my tea, I started packing my things. My dad sensed this so he just blurted in his stern but menacing voice, “Sit down.”

I sat straight, and drank more tea.

“Charles,” Mom was trying to stop my dad’s lecture, “I know how upset you must be about this. But the truth is, it isn’t that bad as you perceive it,”

Oh yeah. For fourteen years, you hid the fact that I am some royal, and now I’m supposed to be happy and cheery about it?

“I mean,” she continues,” most teens would probably be happy that they’re born royal. It’s that cool.”

 

No one I know. Except Emma Frost and her minions. They would love to be royals, and they already act like ones when they rule the hallways.

“Just think of the comfortable life you’ll have in Genovia.” She started talking like the moms on infomercials or on Home Shopping Network. “Like cars. You hated the subway, right? Dad will buy you a classic Rolls-Royce, or even a hybrid.”

I pointed out that a Rolls-Royce would be nice, but I don’t feel like owning one. They’re very unnecessary, and Western Europe – Genovia included – has a great public transport system.

 

“And you’ve always liked farms, right? You also wanted a horse. You’ll have one in Genovia, with a nice mane and great cream skin.”

I really lost it at that.

“Mom,” I shouted. “What are you doing? Do you want me to live in Europe? Are you selling out your son? Are you tired of me? Oh, you want me to live there so my gym teacher could move in with you here.”

My mom made me calm down, as she cried hard and started hugging me. “Oh, not that thing, Charlie boy. I just want you to live in comfort.”

“As do I,” my dad interrupted. He had his arms crossed and looked annoyed, a la Mr. Clean but with hair.

 

“You know what’s best for me? I am going to stay here, finish high school, and live in America,” I told him. “I am going to study genetics or go liberal arts. I don’t care.”

Before they could calm down, I stood up and started to leave.

“Albert, you don’t really know your son, do you? He’s already late for school.” my mom said.

“I got to catch the next train, you know. I have a test this morning, okay?”

Dad looked defeated, but he just said, “Lars will drive you.” I told him that this was useless as Jean and I would prefer to study on the subway.

“Lars would pick up your friend, too.”

Lars is my dad’s driver. Dad always had a driver, and they all seem to have worked before with presidents or some business tycoons. Now that I’ve thought about it, they’re really bodyguards first, driver second.

The last thing I wanted was for a bodyguard to drive me to school. Jean would just laugh at me and I’ll find it hard to explain. The only person at my high school who has a chauffeur is this daughter of a Midwestern CEO who is worried that her daughter would get kidnapped by their business enemies. Everyone stays away from her since a bodyguard always attend classes with that Raven girl.

Dad was serious about it so I didn’t try to argue. It seems like now I’m a prince, there’s this concern about my security like I’m some exquisite china.

When I’m out of the door, I heard Dad ask Mom. “So, Helen, who is this gym teacher that Charles has talked about earlier?”

 **More Friday, Algebra**            

Jean could tell something was up. No one would ask her to be in a limo on the way to school.

At least, she believed my story. “My dad’s in town. Official business and stuff, so there’s this limo service, you know.”

Of course, I won’t tell her about the royal revelation. All I had in mind was how angry she sounded in her report for Social Studies this week. She hated the ‘divine right of kings’ that Lois XIV used during his reign. They thought that monarchs are answerable only to God but not to the people they govern.

She believed me about Lars, but she noticed how unusually calm and defeated I am while we’re studying. She was like, “Why are you like that today, Charles? You look tired and weary. What happened?”

I just ignored her and looked at the window. “It’s nothing,” I whispered. “I’m just really, really tired.”

“It’s just nothing, you know. Just my dad.” I said.

“Oh,” Jean said in a medium tone. “Is he still bothered by that? The male ego is so fragile, even your own one, Charles. He needs to get over it.”

Jean went on about how we don’t need him to contribute to overpopulation and my dad should just appreciate that he has a son like me.

The last bit made me smile. My parents are so lousy, they kind of forget that they have to be parents first, friends second.

But now that I’m sitting here in Algebra, things doesn’t seem as bad now that I finally realized something:

They can’t make me a prince.

They can’t. This is America, land of the free. Free if you’re like _white_ white. Still. I can be anyone I want to be here. You can be yourself. So if I could be whatever I want to be, I can not be a prince. No one could force me to be a prince, not even Dad or Grandmere.

So when I get home tonight, I’ll just tell them thanks, but no thanks. I’m just going to be plain Charles for now.

My Algebra teacher just called on me. Good thing I answered correctly even though I have no idea of what he’s talking about. I am so tired, and Emma noticed it. She just turned her head at me and laughed. She’s really weird.

Just because I’m good at all my classes doesn’t mean I shouldn’t listen in class. I mean, I’m not the same as my classmates but Algebra is fun. Even if I know I won’t use it in ruling a country.

 

**Late Friday night**

I asked Jean if it would be okay to spend the night at their home tonight and she only agreed if I’d give up and just enjoy the time.

I promised her that, since I just don’t want to be stressed at the moment. When I called Mom from Jean’s Razr to ask for permission, and she’s just all, “Uhm, Charles, your Dad was hoping to get another talk when you go home tonight.”

Yeah, right.

I told her that it is a Friday, and I don’t want to be stressed by another of his boring talks. I was hoping to have a movie marathon with Jean, and I needed the break.

My mom’s just not buying this. She was all, “Charles, you have to do this. You have responsibilities at home.” And I was all, “What responsibilities, mom?” in my tired, weak voice. “Responsibilities towards us. Your father and me.” she retorted.

As if you’re an authority on responsibilities, Mom. Forgetting to pay the bills, pick up the laundry, and buy groceries. Responsibility? They have that responsibility to inform me that I would rule a country someday, yet they hid it from me in 14 years.

Excuse me, mom, but both of you and Dad need to know parenting. You need to know when to be a friend and when to be a parent.

I tried to be patient, but I just said to her, “Don’t worry, Mom. I’d buy you a new canvas and fresh bagels for breakfast tomorrow.”

I hung up, then gave back to Jean her phone.

**Saturday, September 27, Greys’ home**

Whenever I spend the night at Jean’s, it’s sure to be a blast. It’s not like they have what I don’t have at home. They only have the slightly upgraded cable plan, while we have all the movie channels for $12 a month.

Plus we have a better view since our loft is on the top of our building, and the wind is chilly on our side of the city.

But even if we just go eat macaroons and other pastries at their kitchen, it still is fun. Maybe that’s because Eva, the Greys’ help, is very nice and meticulous. She never forgets to stock up on tea whenever she knows I’m staying over. She also checks their food so carefully, like she throws anything a week past their expiration dates.

The Greys also never forget their bills. They have always paid it a week or two before the due dates. They never even had their power shut down in the middle of a Lifetime movie marathon. Jean’s mom also is a normal mom, like she talks about how great her shopping dates with her girlfriends, or how she got this great party to attend the next week.

Not that I hate Mom or anything. I just want her to be more of a mom, and less of an artist-friend to me.

I also wish my dad was more to be like Jean’s dad, who always makes me eat carbs and proteins since I look too pale and weak, and who walks around in his sweatpants when he’s just at home. I love my dad, but I can’t understand how he hid this royalty thing to me.

The best thing about staying at Jean’s is that we could forget about our problems for a while. I can relax, enjoy cinnamon rolls, and try to last watching bad movies.

Last night was especially fun. The Greys needed to be at a party for a science event. Jean and I made a huge pack of popcorn in butter, and started a James Bond marathon.

We were able to definitively determine that Brosnan was the skinniest Bond (although he’s very hot in Mrs. Doubtfire), Connery’s the hairiest, and Moore the most tan. No Bond actor had enough shirtless scenes so we can’t pick the best chest, but I think it’s Dalton who do have that one.

I like chest hair, I think. It feels fuzzy in a man’s chest with soft hair.

Suddenly, we heard a knock on the main door. It was Erik, and he was just putting a shirt on when I opened the door. He doesn’t have chest hair, but his pecs look great and lean. He apparently looked good without a shirt. Apparently, Jean called him to join us since Erik lives with his parents just on the floor below.

Eva was answering the phone, who turns out to be my dad on the other line she’s talking to. She lied (!!!) that I was already asleep in their living room, since I’m dead tired. She hung up, and said to me that my dad would just talk to me tomorrow.

Jean never brought the topic, so I’m thankful. She was preparing fruit juice on the kitchen, and she’s really taking time. She left me and Erik on the sofa, watching the movies and stuff. Erik just keep on looking at me and winked when I caught him.

Jean came back, and so we quizzed Erik on which Bond girls were more attractive: the blonde damsels in distress, or the brunettes who could fight side-by-side with Bond. He said that he liked a mix of both, a badass woman who is strong but still human, with emotions, depth, and many facets.

Out of curiosity, Jean asked Erik if it was the apocalypse, and he had to choose only one partner, who it would be, Charles or Jean.

After laughing at how weird that is, he picked me. He said that even though I look fragile and with a soft-side, I could be pretty badass if I wanted. Jean just laughed at this, and shot me a *uh huh, Charles* look. Jean asked me to choose between Harrison Ford and Clooney, who would it be. I picked Ford, even though he’s old, but the Ford from Raiders of the Lost Ark. Jean chose Ford from Return of the Jedi, or those Clancy movies.

Erik went, “Ford or di Caprio?” and we both chose Ford. Although Leo from Romeo + Juliet isn’t bad, either. And then he went, “Ford or Logan Howlett?” with a scowl on the latter. Jean still chose Ford, since they will team up as Han and Leia if it’s the end of the world, and they’ll go on adventures. I chose Logan, since he’d live longer, and he looks like he could help me with kids.

Erik scowled on my answer, maybe since he’s jealous or angry at him. He went on saying that Logan would be a coward and would leave me sooner than I thought. Jean said that fear of new things is not an accurate representation of growth, and I agreed.

Erik said that we’re both idiots if we think Logan would notice us. He liked girls that would put out, like Emma Frost. Jean said that if Logan would use condoms, shower before and after the sex, and then she’d put out.

Erik took a special interest in my answer. I have to think about it first. Virginity is a social construct designed to oppress women and prevent them from being sexual. However, first times are really special, I said that I’d put out for Logan but only if:

  1.        We’ve been dating for a year;
  2.        He pledged his love for me and is a true romantic;
  3.        He would not be bored by me talking about anything.



He laughed, then said that the first two were okay, but the third would be impossible. He said that Logan would vomit every time I’d talk about anything. Jean asked Erik who he would pick if he had to, me or Emma Frost, and he chose me. He grinned to me at that. “I bet you’d put out for our first date, Charles,” he said to me and winked.

I blushed at that remark, and he proceeded to pink my cheeks. “You’re really cute and pretty, Charles,” he chuckled.

Jean kept on doing it, wanting to know who Erik would choose between me and Alison Blaire, the best friend of Emma Frost. He still chose me, since my height would be perfect for kissing unlike Alison’s tall physique.

And then Jean wanted to know who I would choose between Erik and Logan. I pretended to think about it, when in relief the Greys had entered. They found us in the living room, and Jean introduced Erik to her parents.

Since it was nearly two in the morning, Erik left and went back to their loft downstairs. So then later, before Jean went to her room and me to the guest room, she asked me again about Erik or Logan. I had to say Logan, since he’s the most popular guy at school, and he’s totally my crush. He was also a hopeless romantic, as I could tell by that encounter in the mall.*

But I couldn’t help thinking, if it were really the end of the world, it might be better to choose Erik. Even if he isn’t that much of my crush, he makes me laugh, and blush. I’m comfortable around him, and if it’s really the apocalypse, a sense of humor is important.

Also, Erik looks good without a shirt. His pecs are great and lean, and his arms are great for cuddling. Just the right kind of fit. Logan is too muscly and jock-y for me.

Jean would think it’s weird but I think Erik likes me.

 

Weirder than me being the Prince of Genovia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * - for the reference about the encounter at the mall, see Chapter 1.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been too lazy to encode this in my laptop and I feel sick from college. I'm going to complete this chapter by Friday, with 2 new chapters included if I could make it. Forgive me for late updates, okay! :D
> 
> If anyone's also on board for a Cherik/Bridget Jones's Diary crossover, then I hope you will all support my next project. Thanks! :D

**Later on Saturday**

The whole way home from Jean’s got me worried about what my mom and dad were going to say when I get home. I never disobeyed them before, like really.

Well, okay, there was one time Jean, Darwin, Alex, and I went to see Heathers at a local cult film theatre, but we ended up going to Rocky Horror instead, and I forgot to call home until after the movie, which ended at nearly 3 am and we didn’t have any spare dollar to take a cab.

But that was just one time! And I totally learned a lesson from it, without my mom having to ground me or punish. Why would she even do that when I’m the only one who will go to the ATM and withdraw cash for our needs?

But my dad’s another story: he is totally rigid in discipline. Mom says that’s because Grandmere used to punish him when he was little by locking him into this really spooky room in their house.

When you think about it, my dad was probably locked in the castle, in the dungeons or the wine cellars.

I was so worried about what would happen at home so I tried to stay as long as possible at the Greys.

I helped Eva in the kitchen, since she’s busy with the bills and writing letters to her family at home. Erik also came up at breakfast so we talked about homework and our plans for Sunday. Good thing Jean didn’t mention the question she asked me after Erik left, so I felt better.

I left by 8, since Jean had to go run errands and work at the local bookstore, and Erik had agreed to accompany me home.

He noticed I was a little uneasy while we’re walking to the bus stop. “What’s the matter, Charles? You look like you just ate a sock.”

“Oh nothing, really. I was just overthinking.”

“Don’t be so hard to yourself, Charles. Maybe you just need to take a break,” he said as he flashed his shark-like grin at me.

He touched my shoulders and comforted me. I was just about to respond to him when he caught me by surprise, grabbed my face, and kissed me.

His lips feel so soft, and the heat of love from his mint-fresh breath overpowering me. My mind felt tense but my heart made me lean closer, with his hands casually tugging my arms. He tried to look at me directly, with those eyes gazing at me lovingly. I hear his heart beat fast, and his lips feeling wetter and hotter every second. I don’t want it to stop, but I took the step to break away.

We allowed ourselves to catch our breaths, reflect on what had just happened. Just as he was about to speak, the bus arrived in time to break the tension. As he walked me to board the bus, he whispered in my ear, “Someone does care about you, Charles. Someone does love you, you know.”

I just smiled and blushed, and boarded the bus without a word.

*******

Here’s the truth, I am generally a great son. It’s true. I don’t smoke, I don’t do drugs. I stay away from trouble as much as possible. I am very trustworthy; I do my homework in time. That’s the thing. I’m doing pretty well for a teenager, I guess.

Then they drop this royalty thing to me. It’s too much for a fourteen year-old to handle.

I decided on my ride home that if Dad tried to punish me and enforce this, I’d call Maury, Jerry Springer, or Ricki Lake. I’d fight him on stage to fix this mess. Hell, even Judge Judy would lose her shit. Ricki Lake will lose her shit in a single episode, like that one where the iconic wig snatching happened.

To my shock, when I got home I didn’t have to call a trashy talk show. My mom was there, and not at her studio which she goes to every weekend. She was sitting in the couch, reading some Harper’s Bazaar issue. It’s like she’s waiting at her nail salon.

Then there was my dad, sitting on the kitchen table, reading the local daily and drinking his coffee. He was wearing a grey sweater – cashmere, a gift to him by one of his girlfriends who probably got it from J. Crew – and his blue jeans.

He put down the paper, folded it very neatly, and just gave me a stern look. Then he goes, “We need to talk.”

I said that I told them my whereabouts, and how I just need a break to think about things. My dad interrupted me, and just went, “I know,” in his defeated but relieved voice.

Just like that. A calm, defeated voice. He gave in without a fight. I looked at Mom to see if she’d noticed this change, and she just put down the magazine, stood up and hugged me.

“We’re so sorry, Charles.”

Are they really being parents? Right now? Wow. What a change. Then my dad goes, “We understood the stress and anxiety this has caused you, Charles. We want you to know that we’ll do everything in our powers to try to make this royal transition as smooth as possible.”

Then my dad asked me about a compromise, and I said yes, since I’m not like in 4th Grade Social Studies anymore. He pulled out a piece of paper, and we all drafted at the table what my mom calls the Xavier Compromise. It goes like this:

> “I, the undersigned, Albert Louis-Philippe Xavier, agree that my sole offspring and heir, Charles Francis Lane Xavier, may finish his tenure at North Shore Integrated School without interruption, save for summer breaks, which he will spend without complaint in the Principality of Genovia.

I asked if this means no more summers at Nice or the Riviera, and he said yes. I can’t believe it. Summers without nude beaches and unfriendly tourists? Sounds like a good time. I was so happy until I went to this part:

> “I, the undersigned, Charles Francis Lane Xavier, agree to fulfill the duties of heir to Albert Louis-Philippe Xavier, prince of Genovia, and all that such role entails, including but not exclusive to, assuming the throne upon the latter’s demise, and attending functions of state in which the presence of said heir is deemed necessary.”

All of it we’re really okay, except the last part. Functions of state? What the hell were they?

My dad went all vague: “Oh, attending funerals of world leaders, opening balls, high society functions, that sort of events.”

What? Funerals? Balls? What happened to old school glamour? No champagne toasts at yachts, or Hollywood premieres? Will I ever attend the Cannes Film Festival?

“Well,” my dad said, “Hollywood isn’t really all that glitz and glamour. Paparazzi chasing you, cameras flashing at your face. It’s unhealthy, really.”

Yeah, I get that, but funerals? Balls? How the fuck? I don’t even know how to wear a suit, let alone be social to huge gatherings.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” my dad assured me. “Your Grandmere will take care of that.”

 

As if. What can she do? She’s in France, and she hates going to my city. What’s the worst that could happen?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol sorry for late updates again. chapter completed, woohoo! i have papers to write and exams to study for so please please bear with my laziness in updating this. :(


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter again. This is meant to be added to Chapter 3, but I think this stands in its own. IDK IDK lol. Prepare for a really long chapter later or tomorrow, since Chapter 5 will be a catalyst of action in this fic. Woohoo! :D 
> 
> Leave comments or suggestions below, or message me on Tumblr/Twitter if you have questions and want to personally talk to me. Hey! :D

**Saturday night, September 27**

I’m really such a loser. Who spends a Saturday night home alone with their dad?

He tried to talk me into watching a film at the downtown theatre, like he felt sorry for me. I finally shut him down, saying, “Look Dad, I’m not a child anymore. The movies are so ridiculously overpriced either so don’t feel sorry about being stuck here.”

He was just feeling left out because Mom had a date tonight with Mr. G. She tried to cancel on him, given all the mess that went down these past couple of days but I totally got her to go because I sensed that she will explode soon.

My dad drives my mom insane since he’s always going around and being OC, digging bank statements from random places in the loft, and trying to consolidate all bills into one account.

Even though she felt like staying, I knew her breaking point would come soon so I said go, please go, and that Dad and I would just stay home and watch what’s on TV.

Only when Mom came out in her attire, which is a black mini-dress that recalls Liz Hurley’s Versace dress (Mom hates shopping, so she basically just orders her clothes from catalogs while she’s on a bath after a long day at her studio), my dad was shocked and he actually choked on his drink. I guess he had never seen my mom in a mini-dress before --- back in college, all she ever wore on dates were reminiscent of Madonna’s early 80s style, with punk influences and colored tips – because he drank down his scotch in a go and then said, “That’s what you’re wearing?” which made my mom go, “What’s wrong with it?” and looked worried.

She looked really fine, in fact, she was rocking the hell out of that dress, and was very classy in it. It sounds Oedipal to admit, but my mom can look really good when she focuses her efforts in it. Jean had said before that I inherited my “pretty” face from my mom.

Then the buzzer rang and Mom rushed out since it’ll be awkward for Mr. G to meet her ex. Which is fine, since Dad is still recovering from choking on his scotch. Dad looks like a New England football dad, with receding hairline and the fashion to boot. If I was Mom, I’d be embarrassed to admit I ever dated a guy who looks weird in a cashmere sweater.

After they left, I tried to prove to Dad how life in America is better than what it would be on Genovia by ordering great food. I got us wonton noodles, dim sum (which included xiao long bao, fried dumplings, and spring rolls), and Chinese fried rice, all for under $25. My dad wasn’t impressed, but he ate a quarter of what I ordered, and he just sat on the sofa and watched TV. I wasn’t shocked to see him turn the channel to the sports on, but we have like a hundred channels and he chose to watch golf. No Die Hard marathons, Behind the Music episodes, Flavor of Love, or even Real Housewives. He just raised the volume when I said to him that Mom and I would watch whatever mess is on Lifetime or Bravo every Saturday.

I guess being a prince and having cancer can make him think he’s special. He’s not even spending quality time with his son!

So here I am, home alone on a Saturday night. I mean, I’m always home on Saturday nights, except when I’m at Jean’s. Why am I so unpopular? I know I fit the “standard” of being skinny and pale frame, but I really am also nice to people, you know? I mean, Emma Frost is so popular but she’s so mean. You’d think that being nice would mean they would value me more as a human being, and invite me to their parties and such. It’s not my fault I’m kind of weird, and likes old Englishman fashion.

I tried to call Jean many times, but their house phone was busy, which means that their parents are on their study and using the phone. I couldn’t IM her either, since she’s still offline. The Greys are trying to get her a landline extension but their phone company doesn’t have any more same area code numbers to give out. They don’t want different area codes as they’re also upgrading their Internet plan.

I really wanted to talk to her. I mean, I haven’t told her yet about the royalty thing, and I’m never ever going to, either. Sometimes she knows what’s bothering me without me even telling it yet. It’s like she can read my mind. Maybe it’s just knowing that somebody else my age is like me, stuck at home on a Saturday night. Even Darwin has started dating. He’s been quite popular since he joined the track team. Sure, he still have a curfew of 11 p.m., but still he’s dating. Somebody liked him and asked him out, and his father accepts his choice and the guy he’s dating.

 

Nobody, as in nobody, ever asked me out. Maybe my fate is to live single and alone on the throne forever. 

 

It was pretty boring watching my dad who fell asleep on the couch, and I’m tired to bother watching TV so I decided to go online. I saw Erik’s online, and messaged him that I needed to talk to Jean, and would he please go up to the Greys’ loft and ask if she’s home.

 

> LEHNSHERR: What do you want, Charles? Want another kiss? ;)
> 
> CHARLESX: I want to talk to Jean. Can you ring them up and ask if she’s already home? Their house phone is busy.
> 
> LEHNSHERR: What do you want to talk to her about? Excited to tell her about our kiss?
> 
> CHARLESX: None of your business, Erik. Can you just ring them up? Thank you J
> 
> LEHNSHERR: What are you doing home anyway? Why won’t you tell me what are you going to talk about? You’re going to tell her that you wish it was Dreamboy who’ve kissed you?
> 
> CHARLESX: Who’s Dreamboy?
> 
> LEHNSHERR: Oh, you know. Your post-apocalyptic partner of choice, Logan Howlett.

 

WTF! Jean told him about that late night secret question! Why and when did she tell it? WTH?

 

> CHARLESX: Can you just ring them up, please? I badly need to talk to her. And why are you so angry about him, anyway?
> 
> LEHNSHERR: Doesn’t matter, pretty boy. Did I strike a nerve, huh?
> 
>  

I logged off. Erik can be a jerk sometimes. But then, seven minutes later, a message from Erik popped up.

 

> LEHNSHERR: She’s just arrived, Charles. She’s just waiting for your call.

 

I guess he can also be nice when he means it.

 

I called Jean, and she’s very upset on how she was forced to close the local bookstore for tonight. Her parents encouraged her to take a job as they want to teach her the value of money. It’s been really good for her, I guess. Apparently, she’s upset on why I am not upset to her that she told Erik about that late night secret question. Now that I think about it, it’s probably better this way. I hate to lie to her but I think it’s for good this time.

 

My life is a cobweb full of lies, and I can’t at the mess I’ve created.

 

**Sunday, September 28**

 

Apparently, Mr. G told my mom about his concerns on my health and how I easily get tired from running exercises at gym class is due to me not getting enough nutrition at home. He really took the time to remind Mom about this.

Uhm, thanks Mr. G. I appreciate the gesture, it really is a great concern, but I just want to say that I do eat too much at home, it’s just that I’m really not gaining weight. Of course, this did not escape the attention of Dad, who thinks that I look too pale and he doesn’t want me to look like that when I will be formally introduced to Genovians on their national television.

I’m spending the day with my parents making menu plans and researching diets so that my weight would finally catch up appropriately with my age. I really do eat too much, and it’s really impossible for me to gain weight. I don’t know why.

 

**Monday, September 29**

 

On my way to school, I was slumped in the limo seat because I am so full from breakfast. My mom actually cooked a real breakfast meal! At least so, since the food tastes better this morning and it doesn’t reek of store-bought aroma.

Jean noticed how energetic and lively I was. She says that I should totally not skip breakfast, especially since I pull-off too many all-nighters for studying.

She also wants to know how much longer my dad would be in town. She doesn’t like a limo to school. It makes her feel stuck-up and spoiled like those Gossip Girl kids.   I told her I didn’t know, but I do have a sad feeling that I won’t get near the subway anymore.

Jean observed that my dad was taking this infertility stuff too far, since he starts to get overprotective of me. She went on to say that I should make a stand and be assertive, since she could tell that this thing is too heavy for me.

 

If it was that easy, Jean, but I think not now. Maybe not forever.

 

**Wednesday, October 1**

Oh shit. She’s here. 

 

 

Well, not here in the loft exactly. She’s in the city, in the Ritz at Midtown. Good thing I’ll never see her first thing in the morning. I’ll only have to see her after school, or on weekends. It would be a hellhole if she stays here.

It’d be awful to see her in the mornings, since even though she had her makeup removed before sleeping, she had tattooed eyeliner and eyebrows. My mom said that’s because she went into a brief rebel punk phase during the late 70s to early 80s, then changed her aesthetic to New Romantics fashion.

It’s pretty scary, for real. Her tattooed eyebrows are as bright as ever, like those from campy horror movies. No wonder Grandpere died of a heart attack in bed.

Somebody ought to warn the UN that she’s here. I mean, if anyone could start a nuclear war, it’d be her.

 

Last time I saw her, she was hosting a dinner party, and she served foie gras to everybody except this one woman. She had just instructed her cook to not serve the lady during the foie gras course. I tried to give my serving to the woman, who was sitting 2 seats from my left, but Grandmere saw me, and startled me by shouting, “Charles!” It was so loud, it even caused a dog to leap and bark repeatedly.

And then when the party’s over, I asked her why she left that woman’s plate empty, and she just said that it’s because that woman had had a child born out of wedlock. Uhm, hello? Pot meet kettle, Grandmere. Your own son had one! I pointed that out to her, but she just shushed me and yelled for the maid to serve her a Sidecar. Oh, so she’s okay if it happened to a PRINCE, but if you’re a regular woman, no foie gras for you. That’s sad, huh.

But what if she goes here to the loft? She’s never seen it before, and she never went into this part of the city that we live. She can’t smoke here though, since I won’t allow her to fill the house with that nasty stink of a cig. She smokes all the time that Grandpere had oxygen masks in every room in the palace. 

Can you also imagine if she saw my mom’s collection of sculptures and art? She’ll peace the fuck out with Mom’s collection of wooden fertility goddesses.

Why does she have to come now, though? There’s no way I could keep THIS a secret, especially with HER around.

 

 

Why?

 

 

wHy??

 

 

whY???

 

**Thursday, October 2**

Now I know why. She’s giving me royal lessons. Yes, royal lessons. Excuse me, but I’m no Eliza Doolittle. I can do this on my own. 

I’m just in too much shock and stress to write.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> full chapter now! charles's diary entry for October 3 is taking too long to type, since I gotta study for my exams this week and there's barely time for me to update. if you have any questions, message me on my online accounts. i can't guarantee that i can answer asap but hey, thanks!

**Friday, October 3**

Royal lessons.

 

I’m not kidding. I have to go straight from school to royal lessons at the Ritz with Grandmere.

Dumb luck, I guess. This is just too fucking much. I cannot go to royal lessons everyday after school.

My dad says I’ve got no choice. Last night, after I left Grandmere’s suite, I banged at his suite’s door, and when he opened it, I rushed straight in and shouted that I’m not doing it. No way will I have lessons when I wasn’t even informed of this beforehand.

And you know what he said? He just replied that I signed the compromise, and part of it was to attend royal lessons as part of my duties as his heir. I said that we need to revise the compromise, but he wouldn’t talk to me about it. He just shushed me out of the door, and while I was going on a rant about how bullshit it is, there walks this ABC News reporter. I think she’s there for an interview, but she’s not wearing a typical interview outfit, just this velvet mini-dress that fits her.

I’m going to take a look at that compromise tonight, since I know there’s no passage there about royal lessons.

 

 

Here is how my first lesson went yesterday after school:

 

The doorman won’t even let me in, but then he sees Lars, who’s like six feet five and must weight over 200 lbs. He had a huge package on his trademark trench coat that I only now figured that it’s a gun and not some extra third arm that I originally thought. But no, that’s a gun, and the doorman looked afraid of us so he called the concierge. Thank god she recognized Lars, who’s staying in a room besides Dad’s suite.

The concierge herself escorted me to the penthouse, which is where Grandmere is staying. I know that penthouse suites are so expensive and fancy, but damn, the washrooms at the Ritz are nothing to their own penthouse suite.

Everything is decorated with a motif of pink and cream. Cream walls, cream carpets, pink curtains, pink furniture. There are also white and pink roses in vases, and paintings of scenes where pink-cheeked ladies are featured.

 

Just when I thought I was drowning in pinkness, Grandmere came out, dressed completely in violet velvet, with blue nail polish and her trademark rhinestone earrings.

She always wears purple. Jean said that people who always wear purple a lot suffer from borderline personality disorders, since they tend to have delusions of grandeur.  Historically, purple has been associated with aristocracy, since murex snails where Tyrian purple dyes are got from have been weighed in silver and ridiculously expensive. Phoenicians who traded the purple dyes have sold it for high prices, and therefore the poor can’t buy it and have been forbidden to dye their clothes in purple.

Of course, Jean doesn’t know that my grandmother is an aristocrat. Even though Grandmere has delusions of grandeur, it’s because she really is from the upper class.

 

Grandmere comes in off the terrace, and she already noticed what’s wrong with me.

“Why does your pants expose your ankles? Why can’t you stand up straight? You look weak, my god. You need to eat more and exercise, Charles.”

Only it sounded even worse, because it was all in French. Grandmere loves the language. And then, as if she felt that’s enough, she goes, in her breathy, smoky voice, “Won’t you give your grandmother a kiss, my dear?”

I went up to her, and bent down (she’s half a foot shorter than me), and kissed her on the cheek (which is v soft, since she uses a moisturizer every night before sleeping), and when I started to back away, she slaps my hand, and goes, “Have you forgotten a lesson I taught you, dear?” and made me kiss her in the other cheek, since that’s how you great people in Europe.

 

“Now,” Grandmere said when she felt the affection’s done, “let’s see if it’s right: your father tells you you’re a prince of Genovia, and you cried and ran away? What is this mess, Charles?”

I sat down in one of those fluffy chairs, then replied in English, “Oh, Grandmere. I don’t want to be a prince. I just want to be me.”

“Don’t converse with me in English. Speak French when you speak to me. Sit up straight, and don’t cross your arms. You are not simply Charles. You are Charles Francis Lane Xavier, prince of Genovia.”

Then she sat down next to me, “Are you telling me you’re not assuming your rightful place upon the throne?”

I am dead tired, but I just said, “Grandmere, we both know the answer. I’m no royal material. I can’t be a prince. Why waste our time?”

She look at me out of her twin tattooed eyeliners, just like how Tina Knowles is side-eyeing Beyoncé in that gif. I could tell she wants to kill me but couldn’t figure out a way to do it without spilling a lot of blood. Guess she needs to watch Dexter.

 

“You are the heir to the crown of Genovia,” she said this in a totally stern voice, “and you will assume my son’s place in the throne when he dies. There’s no other way around. It is what it is.”

Oh, well.

So I kind of went, “Yeah, whatever. Is this royal lessons thing going to take long? I have homework and school stuff to do.”

 

She looked at me, and then spoke in this really strong voice again, “It will take as long as it takes. I am not afraid to sacrifice my time – even myself – to prepare you in leading the country, for your own good and the greater good for Genovia.”

Weirdly nationalistic, huh. I mumbled, “Yeah …okay.”

 

Minutes of awkward silence ensue, and then she broke the ice by saying, “We will begin tomorrow. You will come here directly after school.”

“Uh, Grandmere, I can’t come here directly after school. I have to stay for a half-hour or something to finish stuff.”

 

“Then do it before, Charles. No excuses. You will bring with you a list of the ten people you admire most in the world, and why. That is all.”

My mouth fell open. Homework? HOMEWORK?

“Close your mouth, Charles. It’s not a great sight to see, dear.”

 

This is stressing me out.

“Tomorrow, you will wear your best uniform. Fitted pants, I don’t want to see your ankles exposed, and no creases in your shirt. Wear your best shoes, style your hair, and please apply some lip gloss or Chapstick on your lips. They look very pink, and it’s not good.” Grandmere stood up, and added, “Now I must prepare to go to the salons. I have to attend a very important dinner tonight. Goodbye, Charles.”

 

I didn’t move for a while. Is she insane?

 

And that’s not the last straw, I swear. She asked me to style it up, like I have the number of the Fab Five from Queer Eye to easily help me. I’m not the kind of person who pays attention to style and fashion.

I really don’t have a choice, since she’s the person you’d never want to cross. What I did when I got home last night is to make sure Mom ironed and pressed my best uniform, while I tended to my shoes. I also bought my own Chapstick and borrowed Mom’s lip gloss, since my lips are very dry without it. It must have worked wonders, since when Jean stepped into the limo this morning, she blurted, “Are you escorting Charles to a date or a business meeting, Lars?”

Which may have been due to our school uniform’s formality and how I wear it. It’s very prep school-ish and I think I look like someone who have prepared very well for a date.

 

Right after the end of my class, I went into the men’s room to check and change some of my clothes. I also checked my hair, and styled it, and reapplied Chapstick and lip gloss. When I saw my look in the mirror, I thought it was a different person looking back at me.

I looked really good, or at least I thought I was.

I thought I could escape the school, changing clothes after classes. No one would be around to see me dressed up like this. No one’s staying at school in a Friday afternoon. It’s boring.

I rushed out of the men’s room and somehow unexpectedly ran into Erik. In my case, I didn’t even noticed him. I forgot that he’s a Physics Club member, and they have a meeting every Friday afternoon.

 

“Hey, Charlie boy!” he said, as I try to pick up that stuff I’ve dropped. “What happened? Why are you all dressed up?”

“Nothing. Don’t tell anyone about this, Erik.”

“Don’t tell anyone what?” I stood up, and he noticed my lips. “Are you…are you wearing lip gloss? Where are you going?”

“Nowhere. Just forget about this, okay? Forget about this like that kiss.” I still haven’t recovered from the shock of that kiss. I really wish he’d give me time to think about that. I still feel awkward around him, and now I just noticed how some of his Physics Club friends are looking at us.

“Nowhere? Nobody goes nowhere looking like that, pretty boy. And your lips look good this time, are you sure you don’t want another kiss?” He got this funny, chuckling look at his face, as he probably noticed that I’m blushing at his comment.

“Me? Me going on a date?” I cackled at that. It’s absurd. “I’m just off to see my grandmother.”

 

He looked puzzled and laughing at the same time. “No one meets their grandmas and styles up like that.”

In a sudden, I felt a weight on my shoulders. Lars was right there behind me, as he have looked for me all around the hallways. I could’ve stayed there and fully explain to Erik but Lars just dragged me to run as he was looking at his watch. We’re going to be late. So I just replied, “If you see Jean or any of our friends, don’t tell this, okay?”

And with that echoing reply, I rushed away.

I know it’s really impossible for Erik to tell Jean about this, considering that he was more close to me than her. I don’t know, maybe I’m overthinking this.

 

And then at Grandmere’s, I felt terrible. She had the guts to call me a twink, only it came off as “tweenk”. I couldn’t figure out what that meant, but I know it could be horrible. What happened to nice grandmas, baking you cookies, and not insult your own existence? Why do I have to have one who did her own eyebrows tattooed and calls her grandson a ‘twink’?

She made me practice standing up and sitting down alternately, so that my posture would be corrected. It’s bad for your shoulders to slouch. We did that lesson for like 2 hours, and that’s just torture, I swear.

 

When I gave her my essay on the ten people I admire most, she tore it up into tiny little pieces. What the hell?

I shouted, “Why’d you do that, Grandmere?”, and she just said, “Those are not the sort of people I want you to look up to, Charles. You need to look up to real people, real women, and real role models as inspirations.”

I asked her what she meant by real, because what the hell is it? Does that mean they haven’t underwent plastic surgery?

She says that real people are like Princess Grace, Coco Chanel, or Christian Dior. I put Princess Diana in my list, but she called her a hack, and not a real icon. Chanel is a Nazi collaborator, why would I admire her?

After we’d spent 2 hours correcting my posture, she said her goodbyes, and went to her room as she plans to attend another important meeting with diplomats. She told me to be at her suite tomorrow, no later than 10 a.m.

 

“Grandmere, it is Saturday tomorrow.” I argued.

“I know, and why?’

“No one wakes up before 10 on a Saturday, unless you have work. I also have to be at the local bookstore tomorrow.” 

“Which is more important, loitering on a dirty bookstore, or your duties to Genovia?”

 

Maybe Jean will understand why I can’t help her tomorrow. I’m missing her a lot lately, even Erik. Maybe this royalty thing is meant for me really. I won’t have any friends by the time it goes public.

So Grandmere tore up my essay, I’m mad at her for ruining that hard work. I’m putting a copy at this book, sometime.

After reviewing the compromise, I don’t see any provisions about royal lessons. I think I’m being tricked.

I also called Jean’s home for a late-night talk with her, but she wasn’t there. Eva said that they went into a restaurant and a shopping trip. Ugh. I wish my life would be as normal as her. I don’t want to distance myself from people. I don’t want to spend a day again with Grandmere.

 

 

I swear, I can’t take this anymore.

pWhich may have been due to our school uniform’s formality and how I wear it. It’s very prep school-ish and I think I look like someone who have prepared very well for a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol i don't think i'm fit to finish this. i'll post a chapter or two this month though. xx


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